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Sameness, it was something you had to get used to when trapped in a personally-not-so-personally curated hell.
It may have been closer to purgatory, but the word used to describe where exactly "it" was didn't matter. Not really.
The word used to describe where they all were varied depending on who you asked. He assumed it did, anyways. Most of the survivors called it hell, a few exceptions were 007n7, who didn't justify the meaningless question with a purposeless answer, Two Time who claimed it all to be a trial by their god, Dusekkar who used enough words when answering that most people gave up listening after a couple seconds, and Taph, who nobody but the admins could understand anyways.
"Hell" seemed to be the main consensus, tossed around like it didn't mean much of anything anymore. How could it? They've been here long enough that even Guest seemed to mellow out slightly from when he'd first arrived. Not enough to relax, not fully, but it seemed like the other survivors could approach him easier.
So when they'd got a server-wide announcement (he assumed server, how would they leave if this was something else?) which had announced that "Good luck." It's safe to say the normalcy that he'd clung to this whole time had vanished. The topic of the predictable rounds that started every 45 minutes, not quite giving them enough time to rest between them, had been approached with concern.
Taph had been shaping blades of grass into frogs near the lake when the announcement echoed in his skull, nearly finished the third one, in fact. He'd given that up immediately, wings puffed up and head whipped around, the grass now neglected but not forgotten about on the chronically damp ground as he raced back to the cabin.
The door had remained open, so it was easy for him to join the other survivors in front of the constantly blaring fireplace.
He was spared a glance by less than half of the group as he sat down, everyone looking equally as stressed as they pondered where to start.
"So that... everyone got that, yeah?" Chance started, just as puzzled as the rest of the group, but opening up the conversation for others, and receiving a nod from the rest. "Yeah, we did." Elliot had responded, adjusting his visor out of habit instead of necessity.
Taph resorted to fidgeting with the wearing leather of the belt around his robe, not exactly able to contribute to the conversation.
"Any ideas?" a gruff voice responded, unsure as the rest of them. "Well... it was a server announcement, so we're still in Roblox." Shedletsky had shrugged, appearing as unbothered as one could.
"Yeah, I thought that was the assumption when we noticed the studs during rounds." Builderman ran a hand down his face, as if he couldn't be bothered to be here. "Well.. that's.. something, right? We can use that, right?" Noob speaking wasn't exactly rare, but it got them enough attention that they seemed to sink further into the cushions. "None of the admins have access to anything here. It's no different than if we were somewhere outside of Roblox." Taph watched as Shedletsky shrugged again, starting a tally of how many time he did the gesture while they were sat here.
The cabin quieted for a moment, nobody gathered anything from that announcement and a round would start in about fifteen minutes. "✋⌚🔄?"
"A friend suggests the answer to be bound within the round." Dusekkar had translated, receiving a few shrugs, resulting in a third tally. "Not like sitting here is being very productive, so sure, we'll wait." While his voice was calm, Guest's eyebrows furrowed, as if he was trying to come up with anything that could hint as to what the message meant.
Taph left his belt alone, shifting so that he was laying on his back instead of sitting up. Might as well get comfortable if he was going to sit here for another 15 minutes with people who wouldn't have talked to each other if they hadn't been sent here.
He looked around the cabin, trying to occupy himself with something other than his nerves as the clock ticked onwards.
Except it wasn't. The clock hand wasn't moving, and it had been silent during the discussion. He braced himself as he stood, waving towards the group and pointing at the clock. It was stuck at 22:00. No time had passed from the end of the previous round.
Everyone turned to look, some faces shifted into confusion, others seeming more anxious, and a couple that appeared to be intrigue.
"Well that's... new. That hasn't changed since last round, right?" Elliot spoke up, tilting his head as though it'd provide him with knowledge. "No, it hasn't. It should show as 22:30 now." the veteran agreed, equally as puzzled.
Chance opened his mouth to speak, at least Taph thinks he did, but his sight was met with white, and his body with cold.
This was familiar, but the sensation was near alien now. Cold was a concept exceptionally rare to him ever since being forsaken to this place. The closest thing to cold he'd experienced here was the room temperature everything outside of the cabins.
Taph's robes had not been made with harsh weather conditions in mind, and they were merely made to cover himself, not to keep him warm in the event of a snowstorm.
Had the others been brought here? he'd thought, as the snow whipped at his face covering and pierced his robe with the chill of a blade.
He felt like he might freeze to death, shielding himself with his wings in a pathetic attempt to protect him from the cold.
The wind continued to slap at him, clawing at his wings with a ferocity not even 1x's blades could compare to. This felt intentional, as though someone had purposefully done this solely because he couldn't keep himself warm. The subspace tripmines were useless, producing no warmth and setting one off would only reduce his vision, already blocked by his hood in his face and all of the snow.
This wasn't a map familiar to him, not yet. The ground felt as though the texture was different, trudging through the increasing levels of snow feeling like an impossible feat.
The wings protecting him from the cold sank into his back again, providing enough leeway that he may be able to retreat to shelter, or at least figure out if any of the other survivors had been brough here too.
This wasn't familiar. It was strange, new, and terrifying. He couldn't hear the ambience killers naturally produced, there was no perspective shift to which killer he'd be facing this round, no long-range attacks, nothing. He couldn't even tell if there were any footprints, and the wind had only picked up the longer he stayed here.
His wings twitched, his hands unable to hold onto his arms properly, and his legs could barely hold him up. This wasn't the cold he dealt with oh so long ago, this was sharp, violent, desperate, and he shook with every whip of it to his body. Taph wasn't light, not really, so he was surprised when he'd fallen over, landed on his side as snow piled around him. A particularly strong gust of wind had knocked him off his feet with ease, as though he wasn't much more than a ball of yarn.
He felt small. A feeling he'd felt when seeing the admins while demolishing an unfinished project, or one deemed unworthy of playing. This was similar, and felt as though it took the malice from then and doubled it. He was met with the realization then, that he was alone. The one time he didn't want to be, he was by himself. There was nobody coming to get him, no Elliot to heal him if he got caught up in placing down a tripwire, no Guest to spot him while he prepared a tripmine, no Shedletsky to stun, or to miss one.
There was no blabber about the Spawn, no rhyming when the situation hadn't called for it, no sentry's, no help. No one. He was well and truly alone.
And it scared him. To be alone, in an unfamiliar location after being smothered by the presence of people he never would have known otherwise. To be helpless in a land he'd been the first to appear in. To be well and truly by himself.
There was nobody to see him shiver, nobody to hear as a shaky breath left him at the realization, nobody to notice his wings brace against his back during another particularly harsh gust of snow.
He was small. A singularity in a land so attached. No longer was he part of a team of people going through the same experience.
There was no shelter from the snow, and it kept getting higher. It was up to his knees now, harder to wade through, and getting progressively higher up. His legs felt like blocks of cement, his fingers no longer able to feel, even in the sleeves that hung past them when he stood. It hurt to keep his eyes open, but what if he found an exit? What if he already passed one?
He provided himself a glance behind him, only to see his footprints disappearing in front of him. He watched, as they got layered in powder that looked so gentle. The same substance that made his eyes water, his legs ache with effort. He clung to himself like a lifeline, not seeing the difference from one in the moment. It was suffocating, in such a vast area, but no answers. There were no corpses rag dolled as they did when someone returned to the cabin after their neck snapped. There was no pizza, discarded and now useless on the ground after being ignored in favour of an unsuccessful dodge. No gasps of Guest clinging to a dispenser while Two Time distracted the randomized killer.
There wasn't any hope for another survivor in him. Not really.
Knowing there was a killer here would have meant an escape, a way for him to leave if it got to much and he couldn't see a way out.
But there was no one. And the feeling of being small punched him in the chest at full force. Burrowing itself in his chest and snuggling in his heart like it belonged. He looked forwards again, the snow at his waist now, making him unable to move efficiently enough for it to be worth anything.
But he carried on. Had to. He needed to prove there was a way out. Even if it meant returning to that hell. Purgatory was easy when it didn't happen alone, cold, and afraid. There was a sameness to it before, something he could count on to know. He could understand that every-so-often they'd be sent into a randomized location, from which they were joined by a killer, and their goal was to survive, make it out and sleep while they had the time. This was not the sameness they all complained about. It got boring after 100 deaths. He'd seen all the maps, knew which killer he could avoid easiest and where, he'd known where to go when he needed to heal up, which maps were easiest to set up a "nest" as Shedletsky had called it after he placed a particularly unsatisfactory tripwire. He didn't know anything here. Didn't know how to leave, didn't know how he got here, didn't know why he was here, didn't know if anyone else had spawned here, not for certain.
It might have been easier to lay down and suffocate in the snow. To give up and freeze to death, call it quits and let himself die, alone, and cold, and small.
He continued. Legs barely able to force themselves through the snow, sinking down for a moment after he moved forward. His feet hurt, legs numb now as he forced them up and forwards.
There had to be shelter. Some hope to leave, to return to the cabin. The warm fire crackling in the furnace, a pool match happening in the distance, a couple people playing on the dance pads, everyone else either gathering wood to keep the fire going, or sleeping in their cabins while they could.
It was bleak. The wind picked up, and if not for the snow now nearly preventing him from walking, he would have fallen again.
He fell anyways, his legs giving up on his body. They were too numb for Taph to move, and the snow only got higher.
He lid in that snow, hair soaked through his robes and clung to his face, now frozen.
Exhale, inhale. Exhale, inhale. Exhale. It became manual, something he couldn't do without thinking anymore. Inhale.
He moved his arms, shaky and soaked with melted snow. He had to keep moving. Looking back now would be a death sentence. He couldn't risk that, unknowing now of the consequence. He needed to find shelter, somewhere he could hide from the abusive wind.
The icy snow hurt his fingers as he practically crawled on top of it. They were frozen now, and he was starting to lose feeling in his arms. He couldn't allow that to happen, he needed to find shelter.
The leather belt he wore pushed against his stomach as he crawled, pushing the numb cold into him further as he ignored it.
It was hard to keep his eyes open, but he had to. An exit would appear, it had to. He just needed to crawl towards it.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
His eyes watered with the cold, with the ache of his legs that he couldn't feel, with the distant stinging in his now bleeding fingers.
Exhale.
If he could produce sound, he'd sob. He hurt, and wanted to give up. Wants to give up.
Let him give up.
Let him out.
Inhale.
He wasn't made for this, hasn't worked hard enough during his time here to suffer through this.
He needed to get out.
Crimson coated white as his fingers bled.
It hurt to go on.
Exhale.
His face covering became more soaked with tears than melted snow. And then with ice more than tears.
He stopped moving after that.
Curled up, sheltered by his wings as he laid down.
He couldn't continue, his fingers hurt, his feet hurt, his stomach hurt, his lungs burned.
There was something he was forgetting.
He didn't care enough, he hurt.
It was over. It was over when it started.
His determination was for naught. It got him nowhere.
Snow coated his wings, grey and brown, and then indistinguishable from the surrounding terrain. A pathetic trail of red followed him, until that too, matched the rest of the location.
Inhale.
There wasn't much that was notable. He couldn't move, couldn't force himself to move, couldn't bring feeling back to his legs, or arms, or feet. His fingers leaked warmth on himself as he stayed curled up. He felt warm, as though just as quick as he was brought here, he was removed.
Feeling small wasn't so bad anymore, he realized. Maybe it was, but to him, it didn't matter. Being alone was ok, too. He liked being alone, he remembered.
He turned his head to glimpse at the sky, void of a moon and of stars. It was such a pretty shade of white.
White? The sky wasn't white. It was brown, and warm. It was loud, too, for a moment.
Then it was black, and he clung to warmth that seemed to cling to him in return, until even that went numb.